The View From Planet Kerth: Wasting away again without a bucket list

“So what’s left on your bucket list?” Laura asked—and I felt a nudge of panic in my heart. But not for the reason you might think.

Most people when asked that question might hear the awful ticking clock and worry that there might not be enough time left to visit all the places they need to see before that last ding-dong of doom tolls for them.

But when Laura asked me to check my list, I noticed that it was empty.

And then I panicked because I didn’t know what an empty bucket list said about me.

On the one hand, an empty must-do list might be the sign of a man who didn’t wait to live his life to its fullest. He went out and did all a man needs to do to find peace and fulfillment, and when the Reaper rolls up at his front door, he can say: “My ride’s here,” and walk with a smile out to the curb without a so much as a carry-on bag.

On the other hand, it might be the sign of a “maybe-later” kind of guy so lazy that he said “Maybe later” to the task of listing all the things he needed (maybe) to do (later) before he kicks the bucket. And when the Reaper honks for him at the curb, he’ll lock the deadbolt, pull the drapes, and shout “Not now! Maybe later!” Not that it would do much good.

So … my bucket list? What was left for me to do?

We were sitting on the Key West Express when Laura asked me the question. Laura was a former student of mine decades ago when I taught high school English, and decades later I also taught her son in class. So when she came to Naples to visit some old friends, she shot me an email to meet for a cup of coffee on a Saturday. And when they said they were going to Key West on Monday just for the day and would I like to join them, I jumped at the chance.

Because, I suddenly realized, going to Key West was on my bucket list!

Buy Photo

Passersby walk along South Street after visiting the Southernmost point buoy landmark on Key West.(Photo: Liam James Doyle/Naples Daily News)

Oh, I know, Key West has become so commercialized it’s little more than a cliché. You go expecting to immerse yourself in true conch living, but all you find is a bunch of pathetic Midwesterners wandering around in panama hats and Tommy Bahama flowered shirts in a hurry to see if the next bar on the map has a better guitarist playing better Jimmy Buffet songs.

But still, there’s a lot more to Key West than kitsch. A century ago, it was the biggest city in Florida. During the Civil War it was occupied by the Union navy, desperate to deny Confederate food and military supplies traveling by sea between the Gulf and the Atlantic southern states. And before that there were the indigenous natives, and the Spanish, and the pirates … with a history that rich, it’s kind of sad to say you’ve lived in Florida a decade or so and never been there.

And then there’s the Hemingway connection. And when you’re a writer, and you’re also an English teacher born in Oak Park, Illinois (as was Hemingway), and you have already visited his childhood home, you have an obligation to visit Ernie’s Key West house just to close the circle, right?

Because Key West is all that—a lot more than a panama hat, a colorful Tommy Bahama shirt, and a cheesy T-shirt in a shopping bag.

So when I accepted their offer to jump on the Key West Express, I put on my most colorful Tommy Bahama shirt and panama hat and grabbed a Key West street map, longing to come home with at least one T-shirt. (Hey, if you’re going to join the absurdity, you must own it. I wanted to be the guy on the street that total strangers take a picture of, then text it to friends with the caption: “Can you say: pathetic cliché?”)

For the record, Laura and her friends dressed like normal people. But I give them credit for not ditching me on Duval Street out of embarrassment.

Buy Photo

Boats can be seen sailing on the horizon from Mallory Square in Key West, where people gather to watch the sunset every single day.(Photo: Liam James Doyle/Naples Daily News)

Our first stop was Hog’s Breath Saloon for a burger and a beer—because as it turns out, Hog’s Breath was on Laura’s Key West bucket list. The guy with the guitar was singing a slow, sleepy Buffett song when we walked in, but by the time we left he was crooning a slow, sleepy Van Morrison song. Cliché, my butt!

After Hog’s Breath we ambled down Duval Street toward the Hemingway house a mile or so away, stopping here and there for a beer if we liked the Buffett song that guy was playing on guitar. We stopped at one place just because they had a girl playing guitar and we wanted to experience the full extremes of Key West entertainment. We weren’t disappointed—her versions of Buffett songs were delightful.

We finally got to the Hemingway house and mentally checked it off our list, but we didn’t go in because the tour might make us late to catch the Key West Express back home. The six-toed cats would have to wait for another day.

We walked back up Duval Street and got back with plenty of time to spare, so we stopped in Dante’s for a quick beer, because it’s rumored that Kenny Chesney stops in there often. We didn’t see Kenny, which was OK because he probably wouldn’t have played a Buffett song for us anyway.

I got back home in Naples around midnight. Wind-battered and beer-breathed, I fell into bed like a dead man, Reaper-ready.

That was a week ago. Now here I sit wearing my Hog’s Breath T-shirt telling you the tale, and my bucket list is empty once more.

The author splits his time between Southwest Florida and Chicago. Not every day, though. Contact him at trkerth@yahoo.com. Why wait a whole week for your next visit to Planet Kerth? Get T.R.'s book, 'Revenge of the Sardines,' available now at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other fine online book distributors. His column appears every Saturday.